


The Most Wonderful Time

by forgetmenotjimmy



Series: Doing House [3]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Christmas, Depression, Divorce, M/M, Making Out, Sexual Fantasy, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 04:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17175557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgetmenotjimmy/pseuds/forgetmenotjimmy
Summary: The buzzer to his flat sounds suddenly. Spoon of noodles halfway to his mouth, he freezes. He glances at the clock: it’s 1:45pm on Christmas Day. Who would be ringing for him?“Yeah?” He snaps.“Special delivery for a Dr Weiner!” Chase stares blankly at the wall. Is that…House?





	The Most Wonderful Time

It’s Christmas and he wasn’t able to get the holiday shift as usual. He’s on-call but for some reason there had been more than enough people willing to work in the ER and ICU. Without his normal holiday schedule – i.e. eating and sleeping around crazy shifts – he’s more than a little lost. Although he’s sure that none of his colleagues bought that he was fine with not flying back to Aus to see the remains of his family for the holidays, he’s confident that none of them suspect just how much it hurts him.

Maybe House knows; but for once House is not on anyone’s case about anything. Their last case wrapped up a few days before Christmas Eve and in a rare show of humanity, he’d declared the department closed until New Year. Unless an interesting enough case comes along, that is. So on Christmas Day, Chase is left watching Christmas movies and specials on TV, eating pot noodle in his underwear.

The buzzer to his flat sounds suddenly. Spoon of noodles halfway to his mouth, he freezes. He glances at the clock: it’s 1:45pm on Christmas Day. Who would be ringing for him? Reasoning that it must be a mistake, he eats the spoonful of noodles and turns his attention back to the television. The buzzer rings again, longer and more insistently. Pouting, Chase puts the pot down and gets up, wrapping a blanket around himself as he shuffles to the intercom.

“Yeah?” He snaps.

“Special delivery for a Dr Weiner!” Chase stares blankly at the wall. Is that…House? In the time it takes his tired brain to kick into gear, the voice barks in a Cockney accent. “Ain’t gettin’ any younger ‘ere!” Still puzzled, he buzzes the possibly-House-because-who-else? person in and stumbles to his room to throw on some decent clothes. By the time the knock comes, he has on a T-shirt and sweat pants. House _is_ outside. Leaning on his cane and holding something under his other arm, he adopts a phony grin when Chase opens the door.

“Merry Christmas, young Robert! Santa’s brought you something, despite you being a naughty boy all year.” He shoves the object into Chase’s hands and limps past the stunned man. Blinking, Chase looks down at the…present? It’s a box wrapped in shiny paper with a bow… What the…? He glances behind him at his boss examining his apartment and belatedly shuts his door. Seeing the noodles on the coffee table, House tuts.  “I know you Aussies have twisted ideas about sacred holidays, but come on? Not even a roast?”

“I…” But his boss has limped to his fridge and opened it, shaking his head disparagingly at the sparse contents. Chase stands and watches him mutely like an idiot as House gets out his cell.

“I had hoped for more, but like any smart person, I came prepared.” Dialling and putting it to his ear, he began. “Yes, a large pepperoni with green peppers and,” he glanced at Chase, “a large Hawaiian. Oh, and some garlic bread.” He put the phone to his chest. “You got cash?” Catching up, Chase nodded and took a deep breath as House finished up on the phone.

“What are you doing here?” Un-phased by the blunt question, House limped over to the couch and slumped into the place Chase had been, nudging the pot noodle carton away with his cane.

“What? You were busy?” Giving up on figuring out the hidden agenda, he shrugs and joins his boss. Taking control of the remote, House flips to a sports channel and they watch people running around. When the take-out arrives, Chase dutifully gets up and pays for it. They eat their pizza and drink beer from Chase’s fridge. There’s a strange kind of quiet as they sit there, looking at the screen but not quite watching. Chase is super aware of his boss beside him, the hairs on his arm perpetually standing up. He’s not entirely sure, but he thinks perhaps House is equally aware of him. In an ad break, he chances glancing at the man. House is taking a swig of his beer but his eyes slide over to Chase’s direction. He swallows and puts the bottle down, turning to face his unwilling host.

Suddenly, they’re a lot closer together. Then a hand’s in his hair and firm lips press against his. His whole body comes alive and he shifts even closer, hands grabbing at House’s shirt. Stubble scraps against his face as another hand slips under his T-shirt. He gasps and his abs twitch under the teasing fingers. Limbs fizzing and insides almost disappearing in the intense heat, Chase gives himself over to the moment. From there, the fantasy differs depending on his mood.

But when he wakes up the next morning, House is gone. Always. Even in his own fantasy he can’t imagine House being there: warm and supine and vulnerable.

The present that House brings always changes. Sometimes it’s a gag gift, like snakes in a can or a set of whoopee cushions; sometimes it’s a sex toy which embarrasses and turns him on by equal measure. Once or twice he’d imagined a thoughtful gift which House had covered up with a flimsy excuse, like it was him re-gifting or something he’d been meaning to get rid of.

Sometimes they’ve been fucking on the down-low for months, other times there’s been palpable sexual tension but no action and once or twice he imagines it without any warning. House just turns up and is there.

He knows how pathetic he is: imagining his misanthropic boss turning up on his doorstep at the loneliest time of year to offer his own brand of comfort. He knows this and yet it still makes him feel a little better.

…

The Christmas after Alison leaves him, he finds himself thinking about that particular fantasy more and more. He hadn’t been lying to Taub about having friends to spend Thanksgiving with, but they were all with their families for Christmas and he’d managed to avoid invites from anyone at work. He’d only managed to get the Christmas Eve night shift, so he planned to clock off somewhere after midnight and roll into bed; sleep late and spend the day watching Christmas specials. Absurdly, perhaps because of this weird fantasy, he actually does buy some meat and vegetables, shrimps and meringue and fruit for Christmas Day.

When he wakes, about 11am, he checks his phone for Christmas messages. His aunt has remembered him and he quickly types out a reply – it’s too late to call there. He thinks about the chaos that had probably ensued over there and tells himself that he doesn’t miss a house full of his young cousins, screaming and stuffing their faces; nor of his relatives yapping on about their shallow lives as they get drunk and make increasingly unsubtle references to the time his mom died and he ran away, or his father’s tragic passing or the fact that he doesn’t have his own practice yet or any other number of teeth-grindingly hateful things. He’d never belonged there. Closing his eyes and trying to remember the exact feel of Alison pressed against him, her hair tickling his neck and her scent reassuring in his nose, he lets the grief wash over him.

What a fool he’d been to think that she could have been his new family, that he finally belonged somewhere, with someone. He’d given up on suppressing tears over it, so he let himself cry quietly; trying not to wonder if he’d ever come out the other side of the dark tunnel he was currently groping through.

Once the tears dry up, he forces himself to get up; takes out the ingredients he’d bought and makes as good a Christmas meal as he can. It’s not quite the BBQ meals he remembers as a child, but as he’s serving up a healthy portion, Christmas carols tinkling out of his iPod, he’s glad that he made the effort. He sits and closes his eyes, about to say grace – another reminder of his childhood – when the buzzer goes. Feeling déjà vu, he cautiously goes to the intercom.

“G’day mate! Open up!”

**Author's Note:**

> So this started as a nice little bittersweet Christmas thing and then got deep. I left it open so you can decide what you think happened next.


End file.
